Singing Through The Silence
by ChanceXIII
Summary: Sometimes genius is as much a curse as a blessing. Kidnapped, tortured, and held hostage, Raito might have been alright. If it hadn't been for the never ending silence. YAOI L x Raito
1. Log 1

**Singing Through The Silence**

**Part 1 - Captive**

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**Log Series 1 - Miscalculations**

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**Log Entry - August 5****th****, 2000 1 : 43 P.M.**

_It was quiet, now._

Raito awoke to a sharp jolt of the ground beneath him, eyes lifting open groggily and taking a few moments to focus. He soon let them slip closed once more though, as the pounding in his head beat a steady rhythm behind his lids. Taking a deep breath, he tried remember the source of his splitting headache, and slowly fragments of memory began drifting back into his conscious mind.

He felt something wet trickle down his cheek as he shifted, trying to get more comfortable on the steel floor he was sprawled out on. Licking his lips, he tasted a sharp, biting copper that slid down his throat slowly, the thick liquid still lukewarm. Ah, that would be blood.

His blood, judging by the enflamed feeling of his forehead. Yes, he had been hit there, when the men came. He had been walking home from a quick tennis outing… had it been that morning? How long had he been out? Surely it couldn't have been more than a few hours?

But there was no way to tell, with no windows in the sides of his holding cell, if that's what it was. Sitting up slowly, his stomach angrily rebelling, he was quick to discover his hands tied behind his back, held together by a thick, rough piece of rope. Twisting his head as far as it would go, he was just able to see the expertly tied knot binding him. There was no chance of pulling a Houdini out of this, no matter how much his shoulders hurt or his wrists were rubbed raw.

Hating the indignity of the action, but honestly too dizzy to even attempt to stand up, Raito slowly crawled and scooted toward one side of his confinement. Finally reaching the wall, Raito pressed an ear against the side of it, closing his eyes to concentrate on listening. Hopefully he'd hear something that could tell him where he was, or what the hell was going on. He had been kidnapped, that much was obvious, but he still didn't know why or by whom.

But all he heard was a vague whooshing sound, with a small rumble interjecting every once in a while. It almost sounded as though his room were moving? That made no sense, unless….

He was in a vehicle. A large vehicle obviously designed for holding items of substantial value, if the thick, solid steel walls, the soundproofing, and the lack of windows were anything to go by. Okay, he had something to work with. Now, what did being in a vehicle mean?

It meant that he was being moved, likely out of the Kanto region, where someone might recognize Raito. This obviously wasn't some spur of the moment kidnapping, they had thought it out well, even getting such a protected mode of transportation to get him from Point A to Point B. Premeditated then, so it was not an act done on any truly emotional basis, and well thought out in its details, as well as cautious in its execution. After all, they had to have been watching him, and had to have known his schedule to catch him at the one time he was alone with no one else about, the early morning (or unholy hours, as Sayu called anything before ten) tennis practice. He went out at five and was back home by six, and usually enjoyed the quiet solitude of his lone exertions and practice.

Until of course, those very same habits had been plotted and taken advantage of in the form of his kidnapping. So, the men were smart, meticulous, had good resources, and were doing this for a reason.

It really wasn't that difficult to guess their possible motives. After all, his father was Chief Director in the NPA, which meant holding a member of his family hostage was a trump card indeed. They were likely known criminals on the run, hoping to bargain for less time in jail or some other even less likely secession.

Though their coordination hinted towards a larger organization… crime on that scale didn't really need a Japanese cop's kid for things like hostages, most of the time. They just weren't as effective as their other options. Because they were international, they had enemies in nearly every large country around the world. Holding one ransom was hardly going to sway France or England into action, let alone a whole committee of representatives. Which was pretty much a given, since organized crime such as the mob or the mafia was never small scale in the long run.

So, unless he was missing something, Raito was being kidnapped by an independent group of criminals, which raised his chances of surviving considerably. While a group like the mafia wouldn't hesitate to shoot him should he outlive his usefulness, criminals without power like that backing them up would try to keep him alive to bargain with as long as possible.

Raito put his back to the wall, shifting his legs and trying to make himself as comfortable as possible considering the circumstances. He couldn't do anything at the moment, unless he really thought jumping from a moving vehicle was the wisest course of action. And that was made on the assumption that he'd be able to get out in the first place, which was seeming less and less likely. Add that to his tied hands and the condition of his head….

Well, he'd rather see if he made it through his kidnapping alive, instead of doing the criminals' job for them. On that note, he relaxed his shoulders, letting his eyes slip shut as he fell into an uneasy but recuperative sleep.

**Terminated - August 5****th,**** 2ooo 2 : 17 P.M.**

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**Log Entry - August 6****th****, 2000 10: 16 A.M.**

The men had driven all through the night, finally stopping midmorning the next day. Raito had never given it much thought, but was thankful now that he was largely a creature of habit. A habit which had the plus of giving him an excellent internal clock, as his body still wanted to follow his routine even when his mind knew it was impossible.

Somehow, even as his stomach growled morosely, he still managed to feel nauseous at the thought of food. It was only natural for him to be hungry, seeing as how he hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, and he had never missed a meal before in his life. But his head and the still thriving migraine were telling him that eating would not be a good idea, unless he wanted to taste the food twice.

Besides, it wasn't as though he could just ask his kidnappers to pull over at the next stop, Raito would really appreciate a bite to eat, if it wasn't too much trouble? He'd be laughed at in the best case, beaten in the worst, if they didn't appreciate his sense of humor.

Raito estimated it was about an hour before they came to a halt, the stop a bit abrupt and throwing Raito off balance. He groaned as he was thrown across the hard floor, his tied hands unable to catch him, earning him a few new bruises in the process.

His eyes were assaulted by light as the back of the… van, maybe, was opened. He had to blink rapidly as he squinted, having grown used to the dark after the day long drive. Once his eyes adjusted though, he immediately latched onto his kidnapper, taking in and filing every detail he could find. After all, when they were caught and he was asked to testify, he'd have to identify the man. And Raito was nothing if not thorough.

His perusal was cut short when the man let out a growl, as if he'd figured out what exactly Raito was doing, before grabbing his arm and pulling him forward. Thrown onto a rough, gravely ground, Raito just managed to catch himself on his side rather than his face, gritting his teeth as he was imbedded with small shards of rock and glass. He was not allowed to remain in place for long, as the heavily built man grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, dragging him to his feet.

Raito looked around, his eyes taking in the sight of an… airport.

He felt a drop of sweat run down his suddenly frigid body. This wasn't good. It seemed he had drastically underestimated his captures, both in the brains and resources department. For them to even consider taking him to such a public area, and be under the impression they would not only be able to maintain control over him, but smuggle him onto a plane…. These were no small time kidnappers.

And if they managed to get Raito out of the country, it was game over. They could be anywhere in the world in a matter of days, with little, if any, leads to follow if they covered their tracks well enough. And if there base were in say, the Congo, there was about a one in a million chance of Raito ever being rescued.

And if they were in a large organization, something big enough to catch their attention, and then drive them to the desperate act of kidnapping… well, that implied some pretty big, unreasonable demands on their part. Demands that could be met under no circumstances.

But it was either cooperate with them now, and be used ineffectively against the Japanese government, or be shot. Raito wasn't going to kid himself by thinking he was the only child that would suit the men's purposes. They could cap him right here, leave him for dead without any trace of the perpetrators, and go find another child to kidnap. A child neither as smart or resourceful as Raito, who had less than zero chance of escaping or aiding investigations.

And above all, Raito had one hell of a survival instinct, and there was no way in hell he was going to die for such a stupid reason as useless struggle.

So he didn't fight, just stood there as his captor held his arm tightly, and watched as the men began to unload an assortment of… violin cases? Raito's mind took a temporary vacation as he took in the odd sight, thinking it was just his luck to be kidnapped by criminals that were also musically inclined.

His bemused ramblings stopped there, as cases were promptly snapped open to reveal a wide assortment of weaponry, including machine guns, automatic rifles, pistols, and even a few grenades in a lone violin case. It was obvious that the men had been prepared for the worst sort of resistance in undertaking their little 'operation', whatever their goal may be. It wasn't until they pulled out a cello case that Raito began to get truly nervous. What kind of weapon was large enough for them to need a case **that** huge? Were they carrying around an atomic bomb or something?

To Raito's surprise however, when the case was snapped open, it was completely empty. He pondered at the point of such an item, but when his captor shoved him in its direction, it purpose was made crystal clear.

They were going to hide him inside to smuggle him into the airport and out of the country.

And he had no choice but to get into the cramped space like a good little boy, or get a bullet through the brain in an attempt to escape.

Oh well, Raito had never claimed to be the self-sacrificing, heroic martyr type.

Before he could cram himself in though, while thanking the heavens and gene pool that he had a slim build and was fairly flexible, he was grabbed once more. Raito opened his mouth, grunting in shock, but the sound was quickly cut off by what felt like a large rubber tennis ball. He heard a snap and felt a tight band around the lower part of his head. He was effectively tied and gagged. And, as he was shoved into a crumpled heap at the bottom of the case, the lid closing with a soft thud as the sound of latches filled the air, blind too.

Raito closed his eyes and did his best to relax as the case was hefted up, and he was roughly carted off like old luggage.

He would be found soon, his father would see to that. It didn't matter that they were taking him out of the country, there was a way to find him.

There had to be.

**Terminated - August 6, 2000 10 : 27 A.M.**

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**Log Entry - August 6****th****, 2000 3 : 02 P.M.**

Raito had never understood claustrophobia before that day, when he was shoved and latched in a cello case for what seemed to be an endless flight, with barely enough room to breath. Each intake of breath was its own torment, as he tried to suck the air in around the unforgiving rubber ball of his gag, never getting enough to satisfy his starving lungs.

But it was enough to keep him alive and conscious, so he supposed that was what mattered.

He had always thought that fear of small, enclosed spaces was a bit irrational, as walls did nothing but protect those inside them. From the weather, the cold, other humans… walls were fortresses behind which humans could feel secure in their safety.

He had forgotten that walls could also be used to cage. Not being able to move his arms at all, having them crammed into his sides for hours now… it roused instincts inside the young man he hadn't even known he had. It was all a matter of fight or flight. He was being held against his will, he couldn't even _move_, and all he could think of were desperate attempts to fight out of it and run, as far and as fast as he could.

But fight or flight was rather useless in his situation, as he could do neither. He could only sit, and wait, and listen to the sound of the luggage shifting around him. The only silver lining he could find to be thankful for was that everyone thought there was an instrument in the case. And instruments were delicate, which meant the case was handled with more than the usual amount of caution. Luckily, he was firmly tied down in a secure area, rather than tossing and tumbling with the normal lot.

But on another note, it only added to his growling trepidation, as it added yet another detail to the meticulous and ingenuous kidnapping, that they would make sure he was not harmed while transported.

He wasn't sure what to think about that. Didn't want to think about it period. So he controlled the desperate pants that wanted to escape from his mouth, trying to ignore the drool crusted at the corners of his lips.

He could not panic. That was what they wanted. He could not feel inferior. That was what they were hoping for. He would not give in.

And that, that was just him.

**Terminated - August 6****th****, 2000 3 : 09 P.M.**

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**Log Entry - August 7****th****, 2000 12 : 46 A.M.**

Raito didn't wake when he was being untied from storage, nor when he was being driven to luggage pick-up, or even when he was hauled up and driven away. The fog of deep sleep wafting around his head was only penetrated when the case was opened, bright, artificial light shining through his closed eyelids and startling him into the land of the living.

He tried to yelp as he was picked up out of the case, but the gag still forcing his mouth open prevented more than a weak grunt. He would not call it a whimper. Whimpers implied weakness, and Raito was far from weak.

Though he was finding it hard to stand up, his legs having fallen asleep over half a day past. Trembling, the calve muscles shook at the shooting needles of blood rushing back into the appendages, and it was clear they wouldn't support him for long. The kidnappers took no notice as he fell to his knees, feeling dizzy and sick to his stomach, but still thankful to be out of that case.

He never wanted to see another string instrument again. He knew too much of what it was like to be one now, carted around in the hot, black cases. At least the instruments were lucky enough to actually fit in them, without folding over upon themselves,

Raito refused to feel grateful when one of the kidnappers removed the gag from his mouth. They were the ones that had put it there in the first place, and if they thought he would thank them for taking it out again, they were sadly mistaken.

He allowed a few minutes to pass before attempting to rise on unsteady limbs. With a few attempts and no small amount of effort, he was standing once more, his back straight and face composed. But still, the kidnappers paid him no mind. They bustled around, sorting and gathering the other cases in their arms, disappearing out of the room and coming back for another load. One by one, they left and didn't come back, the last one shutting and locking the door behind him, leaving Raito alone in silence.

The room was, at first glance as well as hundredth, unremarkable. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all a smooth, middle gray concrete, with no windows and only one door. There was no furniture other than a small toilet in the corner, and a pipe Raito assumed was for water, both rusted and gritty. Altogether, it equaled a complete and utter dump, but it served its purpose. He only hoped he wouldn't have to endure such… unsanitary conditions for more than a few weeks. Raito hated unseemliness and was an advocate of everything sanitary, so his living compartment was almost a personal insult.

Sitting down cross legged in the middle of the small space, so as to avoid the dirtier corners, Raito supposed he did have a few things to be thankful for.

At least they had given him a toilet.

**Terminated - August 7****th****, 2000, 1 : 50 P.M.**

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**Log Entry - August 16****th****, 2000 2 : 45 P.M.**

It had been over a week since his capture, and still nothing of particular interest had occurred. Raito was kept in his small room, brought meals twice a day, and was otherwise left to his own devices. He had gotten used to the stale stench of the room after his third night of enduring it, and could hardly tell it was there anymore. He wasn't sure whether that was something to be happy about. He had a few new bruises in interesting places, as he was forced to sleep on the hard, concrete floor every night.

Raito had never known boredom could be physically painful. His legs muscles would twitch and wake him in the middle of the night, agitated from inactivity. Pacing back and forth in his small confinement could only do so much, and his body felt cold and fatigued more often than not. It was growing used to inactivity, and becoming lethargic, which irritated Raito to no end. His body was only reacting naturally to its conditions, but so many years of staying in perfect shape were being ruined in a matter of weeks.

He was also beginning to worry about malnutrition, as he never felt satisfyingly full anymore. His stomach was constantly cramping or queasy, going to the bathroom was quickly becoming more unpleasant than ever before, and his tongue was forgetting what real food tasted like. Every day it was the same thing; a bowl of bland rice and a piece of dark, crusty toast. Enough for him to live, but not sufficient to make him comfortable.

He had exhausted his mind thinking of word games, number games, story games, any games to occupy himself with, but he had given up after a week of trying to occupy himself. He was hard pressed to entertain himself when he was at home, free to do as he wished. In this limited area, dredging up interest in anything was just shy of impossible.

Mostly, he hated how quiet it was all the time. Usually, if things got too dull, he could always focus on another voice, tune in on a conversation nearby. Usually they were over trivial matters that Raito held in no real regard, but still. There was something captivating about the human voice, particularly the emotion displayed in it, that made it pleasant to listen to in most cases. Perhaps it was the fact that humans could communicate in such a manner, that speech existed at all that was so captivating. But in any case, it held the attention.

But there were no voices here, no noise other than those Raito made himself. And Raito didn't make very many.

He couldn't even hear the sound of his own breathing, the air being drawn in and out without making so much as a rasp on its journey. He did not tap his foot or his fingers, such habits were much too childish for him. And he was too still to disturb his clothes into making small movement noises, and too tired to care.

He wondered, if he were to close his eyes right now, would he even hear his heartbeat?

**Terminated - August 16****th****, 2000 2 : 50 P.M.**

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**Log Entry - August 21****st****, 2000 1 1 : 24 A. M.**

After two weeks of nothing, Raito was removed from the room. Two men had walked him down the hall, one on either side, and taken him through a variety of twisting tunnels and passages. He walked for what seemed like miles to his stiff limbs, and was finally brought to a halt before another plain steel door. He had no idea how his kidnappers had managed to remember where exactly the room was, though he would have no problem with his photographic memory. Perhaps the information would be proven useful at some point.

Beyond the door was another concrete room, quite a bit more interesting than the one he had been kept in. There was a computer in one corner with multiple wires sticking out, and a window for the small satellite attached. In the middle of the room there was a nondescript camera on a tripod, as well as a microphone stand. Obviously they meant to feed out the video they would be recording, probably to the Japanese government. He had a feeling he was going to be the main star of the production, just to prove they actually had the hostage as they claimed.

Indeed, he only had to wait a few minutes (which was bearable after two solitary weeks) before he was shoved into a small wooden chair that he, surprisingly, hadn't noticed. Though it was possible that they had brought it in after his first perusal. He hissed in protest as a rope was wound around his body a few times, effectively tying him down to the chair, as well as being pulled so tight he could feel his ribs give. He gritted his teeth and took as shallow breaths as possible, though that was all he could take at the moment.

The kidnappers had gone to stand behind the camera, the big guy that seemed to be in charge standing by the mike. He signaled the man at the computer (mousy guy, with unattractive features, he noted), nodding to the camera man right after. After a few seconds, the man at the computer spoke.

"Alright, we've got a connection."

The leader held up three fingers to the camera man, then two, than one. The camera was switched on, Raito staring straight into the annoying red light, doing his best to keep his face calm. If he was calm and unharmed (for the most part), than the men receiving the feed would follow his example.

Hopefully.

The man at the mike began to speak.

"Hello ICPO, as you have undoubtedly guessed, this is the kidnappers speaking." Raito hated how mocking his tone was, like he was talking to small children instead of the International Con-

Wait. They shouldn't have been talking to the ICPO; he was kidnapped from Japan. They should be speaking to the NPA. This was an isolated kidnapping.

Right?

"I'm gonna take a guess and say that you've got it pretty much figured out who is doing this, and more importantly, _why_ we're doing this. But I may as well confirm your suspicions. Yes, we are all parts of the mafia organization."

For the first time in his life, Raito hated the fact that he had been right.

"And what we're calling to talk to you about is that pesky little weapon trade control bill currently being reviewed by the United Nations. After all, if that bill does happen to pass, it'll be quite a stitch in our organization's side, on an international level even. Therefore, having a common interest, mafia from all over the world decided to come together to pull off this little operation."

This was so much worse than Raito could have ever imagined. If the mafia had come together on an international level… with that kind of man-power and cooperation, not to mention the resources readily available - money, weaponry, transportation, technology, connections - the chances of him getting out of this incident alive were shrinking at an alarming rate.

Because no matter what the mafia did, there was no way the United Nations could bow to their commands. It would completely undermine what the entire organization stood for, which would result in losing all respect from the governments around the world. And the U.N. was a political power built on respect alone, and it depended on that recognition when it made demands.

And they would never stop a bill that could hurt a crime ring as big as the mafia just to save him, the mafia was smart enough to realize that. He was missing something, some important piece of the puzzle.

"By the way, I was curious, you wouldn't happen to have noticed anything missing lately, would you?" The man at the mike laughed, the noise coming out in a fair imitation of a pig being gutted. "Perhaps we should get down to business."

The man's tone lost the superior edge, coming out hard and ruthless. "You're smart men, but I feel the need to make the situation perfectly clear. We are currently holding thirteen children, ages eight to fourteen, the oldest being the boy in front of you now. As you've noticed, all are the children of either national political leaders or influential men in the police force. The countries we took them from include the U.S., England, Russia, China, France, Japan, etc."

Thirteen children? All of them with parents in such positions of power?

Raito had made a grave miscalculation. It was no wonder the man sounded so cocky. He literally had the most powerful men in the world by the balls.

"Don't get the wrong idea, we aren't negotiating for the children's lives at the moment. We're only informing you of the situation, and proving that it is as we say." The man let out a gruff chuckle. "Though, gotta say, Japan should be proud. This kid's done his old man proud, bitchy little ice princess."

Raito felt his lips curl up into a sneer he couldn't control as he glared at the man behind the camera. He knew his face was visible to literally the entire world, but he couldn't hold back the expression. The man was a crude pig, and he knew the sentiment was showing on his face.

When the man spoke again, he didn't sound quite as amused. "We'll give you a week to discuss what you've heard here, and then open communications. And don't worry boys, you'll see your kids soon enough. What condition you see them in is up to you."

An abrupt hand motion, and the camera and feed were instantly cut.

Raito smoothed out his expression as the man walked to the chair, realizing in hindsight, he may have just done a very stupid thing. This was confirmed when the man's fist came crashing down into his cheek, snapping his head to the side and no doubt leaving a mother of a bruise.

"The one expression you choose to make in two weeks… you really are a little bitch, aren't you? Well, don't worry. I'm sure you're already regretting it. And by next week, I'll make sure the only thing you can think about is how much you _hurt_."

Yes, a very stupid thing, Raito concluded, as another blow landed on his other cheek. Then on his temple. Then on his jaw. And again. And again. And again.

Finally he was thrown back into his room, his body sore, face bloodied and bruised, though thankfully not swelling. The edges of his vision were dark, slowly swallowing up his vision. His only conscious thought was that at least the blood rushing in his ears blocked out the stifling silence.

**Terminated - August 24, 2000, 1 : 18 P.M.**

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**End Of Log Series One - Miscalculations**

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A/N: Okay, first chapter of this fic is out! I'm just kinda depressed they didn't let me post it in my kick-ass font. Made it look a lot more official, that font did. Ah, well. I'm not gonna get my panties in a twist over it.

Okay, first thing I'm gonna do is warn people - the M rating is DEFINITELY on this fic for a reason. There is going to be seriously creepy psychological and physical torture going down, so just be prepared. The first part will be full of this, poor Raito, I am sorry to say, and if you don't like that, don't read any more. The second and third parts are much less graphic, and I'll try and make it worth the angst, alright?

THANK YOU SO MUCH TO MY AMAZING AND OVERWORKED BETA NILAHXAPIEL FOR ALWAYS BETA-ING MY STUFF SO FAST! YOU'RE MY HERO!! X3

And, as alway REVIEWS ARE WHAT I LIVE AND BREATHE AND DRINK - but I do not demand the joy they bring. If you don't want to review it, well, I haven't made it good enough.

And I've had some new stories bubbling up in my head, they're on hold for a while cause I'm doing so many, but check out my profile if your interested in the future. And I should have my one-shot, which I have decided to title **Define "Compatible"** out soon. So yeah, that's about it.

'Til Next We Meet!


	2. Log 2

**Singing Through The Silence**

**Part 1 - Captive**

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**Log Series 2 - Deterioration**

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**Log Entry - August 31st, 2000 1 : 42 A.M.**

_He hurt, dear God, he hurt._

Raito lay still on in the center of his small, stale prison, his chest barely moving as he took short, slow breaths. His tongue flicked out momentarily, to lick gently at his split lip, the blood's taste sharp and poignant against the monotony of the room. Eyes slit open, only to slide closed again with a quick, indrawn gasp.

The dark, black circles around his eyes created the illusion of depth, sinking deep bruises into his face, almost reminiscent of an insomniac. He would have counted himself lucky had they come from lack of sleep.

As it was, he had daily berated himself for the prideful actions that had earned him his constant beatings, resulting in his bruised eyes and body. At the same time, he couldn't quite find it in himself to regret that sneer, that one moment of absolute disdain, just on principle alone. The man's reaction, though painful for Raito, was satisfying. It revealed just how big a blow to his ego that little expression had been.

And the best, worst, most stupid part of it all was… Raito knew he would do it again, if given the chance.

It was his own ego talking, he knew, but he just couldn't care. He knew the basics of his situation now, and the information was dire and discouraging. But also, strangely enough, it liberated him in some aspects.

At this point, he had little or nothing to lose. So why not indulge himself, while he was still alive to do so? Raito could take pain, he knew he could, and it wasn't as though he were being interrogated. Then he would have to worry about the pain inducing him to reveal something. No, this was punishment for punishment's sake. Meaning he would still have to bear it, but could do so without fear or pressure or responsibility. He knew, many times, it was more the mental than the physical side of torture that broke the victims.

And no matter what anyone might say or think, Raito was not a victim. Victim's were weak, they were defenseless, they relied upon others to take care of their problems for them. No, Raito was not, and would never be a victim. He would make sure of that.

He would never be that weak.

So when the door to his cell slammed open, breaking through the previously still air, Raito did not jump. He was actually quite thankful for the noise, he hated the silence that gave him nothing to do but dwell upon his own thoughts. And even those were beginning to grow tiring.

He didn't protest when he was pulled to his feet, or cry out when he was smacked across the face several times, 'just to make sure he was paying attention'.

He didn't complain and refused to limp as he was led down the endless hallways, a different direction than that of the room two weeks ago. He didn't even sigh as he was finally pushed into a room very similar to the last, only with more computers in a row to one side.

He would deny until the day he died the small, inaudible whimper that caught in his throat as he was pushed down and tied in another chair, looking up into a reflective camera lens and a mocking red light.

**Terminated - August 31st, 2000 2 : 15 A.M.**

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L's brows were furrowed in concentration as he stared intently at the computer screen, slowly rolling a piece of candy around in his mouth. He was so close, it was on the tip of his tongue, he could literally taste the answer…

Mango. That's what it was. The mystery flavor was mango. He nodded to himself in satisfaction, checking off another solved mystery in his head before crunching down on the candy, chewing ruthlessly before swallowing down the sweet shards in one huge gulp. He was just reaching for another piece when the computer beeped, and his hand paused in midair. He quickly forgot about the candy as he focused on the screen before him, his eyes narrowing into a more serious expression. A moment or two of tapping keys and he was connected to ICPO and it's network, ready to receive any outside video feed they sent.

L would admit, if only to himself, that this latest case was hitting a bit too close to home for him to be completely comfortable. It had only been about a week since ICPO had contacted him for help, and though he had been working on the case a few days before that, he wouldn't turn down the help of the police on the matter. And for the first time, to L's amazed delight, it had been global police support, something unheard of in politics today. He only wished the circumstances that had caused such cooperation had not been such as they were.

Circumstances happened to be thirteen kidnapped children currently being held hostage by the mafia, each of them with a parent of political influence from all across the world. Needless to say, it was a living nightmare for both the U.N. and the ICPO. The U.N. because they had no real choice in the matter; under no circumstance could they not pass the weapons control bill, now that they had been given proof of how badly it would hurt a criminal organization like the mafia. But at the same time, there were thirteen children, innocent, scared little kids in the grasp of the most brutal and bloodthirsty men in the world. And it was the ICPO's job to either negotiate their release or catch the perpetrators.

They weren't having much luck on either option. One, negotiations were scheduled to begin in about ten minutes. And two, because the mafia had cleared any tracks it might have left so thoroughly, the police force would be lucky to catch them in the next decade. L was not the police force however. L was an idea, the idea of absolute justice.

And people could never truly escape an idea once it had been planted. It would follow every step they made, influence every decision, create a dark figure in every shadow. They would feel his eyes watching their every move, and would know that there was no escape.

Then they would make a mistake. And that was when L would take them down.

Still, he hated when his cases involved children. It made him think far too much of the three boys he had left back in England. Whenever he compared the innocent children in his cases to them, his stomach would become unsettled, and he would feel nauseous for however long it took to catch the criminal. The thought of a child having to suffer any adult atrocities…

He hated cases that involved children. But that hatred would help him catch the scum that had kidnapped these children, he was sure. His computer beeped, and a video feed popped up in the middle. Ah, right on time. At least the kidnappers were prompt.

L's mouth drew down into a frown as he viewed the image before him. There was a child tied to a chair, directly in the center, a small girl by the looks of it. He could hear stifled sobs and see her small shoulders shaking. She had short brunette hair, and very classical European features. He was going to take a shot in the dark and say this was the girl from England. He was snapped from his musings when an electronic and scrambled voice spoke.

"In case some have remained unconvinced, we've decided to confirm the fact that we do have all thirteen missing children in our possession, if only to put the minds of the parents at ease." There was an electronically distorted, but still sickening laugh through the connection, and L let his frown deepen more. What a pig. He hoped the man would be in such good humor the day L managed to stick him.

"The girl you see now is Bridget Stigmoore, age twelve, English Judge Walter Stigmoore's only daughter." The picture flickered, before showing yet another child, tied in the same place in the same manner as the last. A small, frail looking boy this time, with a head full of red curls and an abundance of freckles sprinkled across his nose. It looked as though he'd been crying, his eyes red and swollen, trails of snot dripping from his nose to his upper lip. "This boy is Michael Peterzack, age eight, youngest son of American Vice President Joline Peterzack."

Once again the screen flickered and changed. One child after another was shown, each in different states of misery and anguish. L slowly counted them off in correlation to their country, with Britain, the U.S., China, France, Russia…

Finally, twelve of the thirteen children had been shown, and L instinctively knew it was not mere chance that Japan's child was the last in line. Not only the oldest, though that fact held little relevance, Raito Yagami was the teen they had shown one week ago, at the first contact. A beautiful child to make any father proud, L was pretty sure the kid had earned himself more than a little pain from his captors for his little sneer. This last week had to have been hell for the kid.

Even so, L applauded him. It took a lot of courage to be so defiant in the face of one's kidnappers, especially one's as hardened and bloodthirsty as mafia members. L would admit it, he was impressed. Besides, that had been the nastiest, most belittling expression L had ever seen someone pull off, and that was saying something.

This Raito must be quite a handful.

And it was his job to get the kid back safely. L's eyes refocused as the screen changed once more, intently awaiting the sight of the last child. His fist clenched at the image before him as his lips tightened into a thin, angry line.

Raito was tied to the chair, in the same position as all the other children. Yet, when one compared his image with the other twelve, they couldn't be more different. For one, the first thing anyone would notice when looking at Raito was his physical state. Which, needless to say, wasn't looking that swell.

His eyes were both blackened a deep midnight color, and there was no doubt in L's mind even the slit they were opened to was immensely painful. There was dried blood dribbling down his chin and staining his shirt, with his lip split seemingly in half. There were mottled bruises across his bared arms, and likely more below his shirt and pants. But what stood out the most to L were the marks around his neck, that looked suspiciously like finger imprints.

They had beaten the boy black and blue. Raito presented a vast change from the terrified, yet relatively unharmed children before him. And it wasn't just because of the bruises.

A counterpoint to the weeping and sniveling of the other captives, even with bruised slits for eyes and a split lip, the boy was glaring straight into the camera, his jaw set. There was no fear about his countenance, and his expression was one of pure, unadulterated loathing.

Quite a character, this one, L thought, biting his thumb between his teeth, gaze contemplative. Obviously a very strong-willed individual, one that didn't let something like pain get in his way. L could respect that, especially from one as young as Raito.

The kidnapper was speaking again. "And, last but not least, Raito Yagami, fourteen, only son of Chief Soichiro Yagami of the NPA. AKA, ice princess." Once again, there was the distorted impression of laughter. "As you all can see, his little stunt last week cost him. But we intend for all of you to see the fruits of our labor, and how effective our 'discouragement' of bad behavior has been. Maybe if the kids come home, you parents could take a leaf from our book!"

The kidnapper began addressing Raito. "So kid, why don't you tell them all how sorry you are, eh? The boys and me were oh so embarrassed by your bad behavior. So why don't you just apologize to all the guys here, for being such a bitchy little brat?"

L wondered just how stupid the man behind the camera was. It was obvious, to him at least, from the expression on Raito's face that 'apologizing' was the last thing he intended to do. But not even L could have predicted what happened next.

Raito took a deep breath, and to the kidnappers delight, began to speak in a calm, recalcitrant tone of voice. "Hello dad, ICPO, and the UN. Obviously, it's me, Raito. As for my actions last week, I would just like to say that…" L removed his thumb from his mouth, staring, and wondering whether he had been all wrong and the boy really was about to apologize.

Suddenly Raito's eyes snapped open, and his split lip curled into a snarl, opening the wound and dribbling a small line of fresh blood down his chin as he spoke, impassioned. "- I WANT YOU TO CATCH THESE SONS OF BITCHES, AND PUT THEM BEHIND BARS WHERE THEY BELONG! I WANT YOU TO FIND THEM, AND TIE THEM DOWN LIKE THE PIGS THEY ARE, BEFORE YOU PICK UP THEIR SORRY CARCASES AND TH-" Raito's rant was abruptly cut off, as the body of one of his captors appeared behind him, quickly stringing a piece of cloth through Raito's mouth and pulling back, choking the boy.

L watched with wide eyes, following the movement of that pale, bruised throat as Raito desperately fought to breath. The voice of the kidnapper, sounding significantly less amused, spoke once more, saying they would contact the police once more in two weeks if their demands had not been met, before bidding a hasty farewell.

L's hand slowly reached forward, cutting off transmission with the push of a button and settling back. That had… that had been…

Stupid. Idiotic. Absolutely suicidal.

And one of the greatest moments of courage he had ever seen.

It would cost Raito in the coming weeks, his brave outburst. If he thought he had been in pain now… L shuddered to think of what was to come. But it was L's job to end the hell he would undoubtedly experience as soon as possible.

Nodding his head, he leaned forward, reestablishing connection with the ICPO.

He wouldn't let Raito down.

* * *

**Log Entry - September 14th, 2000 1 : 55 A. M.**

It was, without a doubt, odd, Raito thought, as he was guided down the halls, a captor on either side. He was actually feeling a lot better than he had the last week, which was the odd thing. If anything, he had expected to be beaten within an inch of his life for his outburst the last week. Yet, not a finger had been raised against him. He had sat alone in his cell, his bruises slowly healing and his lip becoming whole once more, and wasn't bothered by anyone.

As happy as he should have been about it, he knew it boded nothing good in the future. No, if anything, it meant his kidnappers were waiting, perhaps until his guard was down, before coming in and thrashing him just short of death.

But if that was the case, why hadn't they done it before this little rendezvous with the rest of the world? Surely it would make more of an impact if others could see his bloody and mangled form afterward? As macabre as that sounded.

Something in him was screaming that something wasn't right about all this, and that he was walking straight to his own doom. He did his best to ignore that small, irritating feeling in the back of his head, but the further they walked, the more chilled he became.

Raito prayed to God his instincts were wrong about this. That the kidnappers simply didn't want to beat him to death, and that was why they had held out. He tried to convince himself that he wouldn't have rather been beaten than have to stand this waiting.

He couldn't lie well enough to tell himself that he wouldn't have preferred it over the quiet though. It had been horrible, sitting in that cell, listening to nothing no matter how he strained his ears, always waiting for the heavy footfalls and creaking door that would signal the beginning of another pummel fest.

Finally they entered the room of choice for the day, and Raito froze in his tracks. His eyes widened slightly as they surveyed the piece of furniture in the middle of the room, a cold sweat breaking out across his face.

Rather than the usual chair, their was a table, reminiscent of the examination tables they used in hospitals, complete with straps and all. That wasn't terribly intimidating. The part that had Raito's heart rate speeding a mile a minute was the small stand beside the table.

Which bore a wide assortment of knives, scalpels, and other tools reminiscent of an operation room.

He was going to be sick. His stomach was turning over, and he could taste the bile in his throat. His mouth was salivating at an alarming rate, and when it finally came up, it was all he could do to swallow it back down again. His throat burned with the acrid liquid, his tongue heavy with the noxious taste.

They pulled him forward without resistance, as he felt his brain go numb with shock and dread.

What… what were they going to do to him?

On second thought, he didn't want that answered.

He felt the cool metal against him back, reminding him of the long ride in the back of some vehicle a few weeks ago. And he thought that had been bad… if only he had known then what all this would come to…

Well, for one thing, he wouldn't have practiced tennis that morning.

God, what kind of sick joke was that. Raito recognized the fact that he was moving dangerously close to hysteria at the moment. Closing his eyes, the lids now a light purple rather than the black of last week, he made himself take a deep breath. And then another. And another. The air was coming in shaky, but it was coming in, and that was what mattered. He had to keep his lungs relaxed; he would be in bigger trouble if he hyperventilated. Tensing would only make the pain worse, he had to stay calm. If he didn't focus on the pain, it wouldn't hurt as bad.

Or so he told himself. No, he couldn't think like that. He was so good at convincing other people with smile and a few words… he just wished he were as good at fooling himself.

It wasn't until the usual narrator began talking that Raito realized that the camera had been turned on, and was recording him. And if there was one thing Raito refused to do…

It was panic in front of the entire world. Or, at least, their police representatives. Perhaps it shouldn't have been what he was focusing on at the moment, but all he could think was that this could be called some kind of test. If he failed this, embarrassed Japan, his father, and the NPA, he would never stand a chance in the police force.

In a way, that made it easier. Tests were something Raito could do, he never felt nervous and was always ready to give it everything he had.

If he thought about this as a test, he could get through it.

He repeated it to himself as a kidnapper lifted one of the scalpels.

It loomed closer and closer, taking up all his vision. He felt his pupils dilate, his eyesight sharpening, only serving to accent the sharp, tapered edge of the knife. Finally it rested against his inner arm.

Raito stopped breathing, his eyes wide and riveted, his body cold.

Then the knife bit down into his skin, dragging down in a fast, long, professional slash. Raito imagined he could practically feel the flesh giving way to the thin metal, even as he could see the skin on either side blooming outward, allowing a warm stream of blood to escape his veins.

He let out a cry. It wasn't a yell, or a scream, or a whimper. It was more like a choking sob, and Raito was horrified the second it escaped. He was momentarily taken away from the scalpel, the cut, the blood… as all he could think was how pathetic he sounded, right there.

It made him ashamed. If he couldn't even take this….

He was brought back to the situation as the man moved on the inside of the opposite arm, the knife pressing into him once again. But Raito could not be so weak again. He bit his lip, refusing to let out a sound, even as they moved to his legs, his thighs, his stomach.

He didn't notice that he had bitten through the skin, until he tasted the salt of his sweat mixed with the copper tang of blood.

**Terminated - September 14th, 2000 2 : 57 A. M.**

* * *

L didn't notice that he had bitten through the skin of his thumb until a bandage fell down into his lap. He looked down at it, then up at Watari, before removing his thumb from his mouth. He carefully wrapped the bandages around it, turning his eyes back to the screen as soon as he was finished.

He looked back just in time to see the first cut being made, for the seventh time that night.

He wasn't sure why he continued to watch the video, other than some vague sense of guilt. It was disgusting to watch as the masked men slowly and methodically cut the smooth, healthy skin of the child on the screen, but he could not tear his eyes away.

This was his punishment for not finding the children yet. He had to sit here and watch, because God knew the boy's father was. It was the least L could do. Though he knew it was impossible that he could have solved the case in the two weeks he had been given before this…

He felt responsible for Raito's pain on some level. He had made a promise, and he was letting the boy down. The brave, foolish young boy.

But the fact was, the kidnappers had covered their tails. L had found absolutely no leads whatsoever in the last weeks, and it was driving him crazy. Because their were ALWAYS clues. It was just a matter of finding them.

And it seemed L was looking in the wrong place.

He had been comparing all the passenger names around the world to those of all the known mafia members the agencies of the affected countries could come up with. So far there had been exactly zero matches. And there were no picture matches either, even from the airport security cameras. The mafia had gone all out, using their unknowns and hidden members to carry out the operation.

Which left L with a whole lot of nothing.

The video in front of him started over again, as L had put it on a loop, and his eyes snapped back to the screen at a small sob. Or, more accurately, the small sob. The only sound Raito had made during the whole ordeal, the sound escaping just as the first cut was made. Before all of ICPO saw the boy bite his lip through, holding back any other noises that may have escaped.

Foolish, brave, brave little boy.

L swallowed hard as he watched the third cut, on the boys calf, the seventh, on the boys inner thy, the tenth, on his flat belly.

He had no choice at this point. He had gotten nowhere with his investigation so far, and the situation had already gotten far out of hand. If he was going to get Raito out of there, he was going to need help. He shook his head, reminding himself there were other children there as well. A lot of sniveling, unharmed brats that cried and thought they had it bad every time they were placed in front of the cameras, and begged their parents just to stop the bill from passing every time they were prompted. He knew they were children, and they were scared, but still. It was just so… pathetic.

But not Raito. Raito was different. Raito was brave, and smart, and strong.

Raito was special.

And L would get him out of that hell one way or another. Even if it meant doing what he had never done before.

"Watari."

"Yes, L?"

"Call up the ICPO. Tell them to pick out and send the best agents they have, L requires their assistance."

"Very good, L."

L didn't respond, watching as the video stopped and began anew once more.

* * *

**Log Entry - September 28th, 2000 1 : 38 A. M.**

And here he was, strapped down to the table once again, the red light blinking at him merrily.

He felt sick. Not because he was undoubtedly about to go through the same torture as the week past. Oh no, he could handle the pain. No, he was sick with himself. Because, despite the torture and the humiliation and the god damn blood…

He would rather be here than in his dark, quiet cell. He could practically feel himself going mad inside the small space, with nothing to think about but the gray and the stillness. He couldn't stomach the food anymore, and knew he had lost at least ten pounds since his initial confinement. But, at the same time, he couldn't find it in himself to care. Sometimes, he just couldn't bear the thought of putting that horrid, bland food into his mouth. It was the only thing he could control in the place, what he ate, and he would take advantage of that. Even if it wasn't necessarily good for him.

This entire situation wasn't exactly good for him. What was another little discomfort when added to the growing list?

He was thankful most of the cuts had begun to scab and scar, not that they were going to make some new ones. Chewing on his lip, he thought how the situation had lost a great deal of the intimidation factor, now that he had already gone through it. It hurt, no doubt, but he would survive it, and wouldn't be overcome by it. It was bearable.

He had little reaction when the scalpel was picked up, this time, his teeth closing on his bottom lip, ready to prevent any sounds that might escape.

He wasn't prepared for the scalpel to move toward his face. Eyes widening to the point where the whites could be seen around them, nostrils flaring wide with a panicked huff, Raito barely managed to contain himself. But if he struggled, there was a good chance the knife would strike where it was not intended.

Which could lead to permanent scarring or damage, a disablement, or even death. No, he had to stay still.

Even if they cut his face to pieces in the process.

He closed his eyes as the point first came in contact with his skin, and felt the sharp sting at the cut. But, unlike the last time, they continued to drag the knife over his face, despite the fact that it was already wet with blood.

It wasn't until his captor switched to his left cheek, and a piece of cloth was shoved over his right to stem the blood flow, that he realized what they were doing. They were literally cutting a picture into his skin. Raito knew that every cut of the knife would scar, without regard to what area of the body it was put to. But this was his face.

They were cutting a picture into his face. A picture that would scar. That would stay with him forever. There would be no painful surgery or procedure with which to get rid of the marks, not like a tattoo.

Scars were forever.

Raito felt the stinging in his eyes, but closed them to the pain, the blood, and the unshed tears. He wouldn't cry for these bastards.

They weren't good enough for that.

**Terminated - September 28th, 2 ; 09 A. M.**

* * *

L rubbed his toes against each other in annoyance, not really comfortable with the situation. He knew it had to be done, but… he wasn't used to having other people in the same room, where they could see his face, and knew who he was.

But even more than that, it was horrible to have to look up, and see Soichiro Yagami out of the corner of his eye. The man looked… well, in a word, terrible. His hair had gotten more gray in the last month than had L believed possible for such a short amount of time, and there were bags to rival his own under those eyes. Blank, despairing eyes that looked as though they had seen hell. And L supposed, in a sense, they had.

After all, if seeing one's own child tortured wasn't hell, then what was?

But still, L had considered taking the man off the case, due to his personal attachment to the victim. He couldn't have any member of his team slipping up or acting irrationally. But it also seemed unbearably cruel to remove the man, to take away his best chance of doing something to save his son.

Raito.

L glanced at the blank spot on the wall, feeling his stomach roll before he looked away. There had once been a resplendent painting there, a masterpiece, priceless and beautiful. It had depicted a beautiful angel, reaching up toward the heavens, white wings outstretched.

L had taken it down immediately following the last video of the children. Or child, he supposed. There had been but the briefest flashes of the twelve younger children, most of the time being spent on Raito. When L had seen the scalpels, he had immediately assumed that there was to be a repeat of last week, cutting Raito in various places. But it seemed the kidnappers were not content with the reaction they had received from the treatment. Namely, little.

But when they had moved the sharp edge of the knife to Raito's lovely, round face, a face that had not yet lost all it's baby fat or boyish dimples, he had…

Well. They had had to pay the hotel for a very nice teapot that had unceremoniously been shattered across the floor.

But it had been even worse when L had seen what they were really doing. They were carving a picture into Raito, into his perfect young flesh. Like he was a block of wood to be carved into to make look more attractive. L had bristled at the utter degradation of the act, and hadn't been able to bring himself to look at Yagami-san. He would be suffering enough without L's close observation.

But he hadn't been able to stomach the lovely painting anymore. Not the angel one. Every time he looked at the snow white feathers sprouting from the woman's back…

…All he'd been able to see were the bloody angel wings carved into Raito's face, one on either cheek.

L closed his eyes, willing the image away. Holding back a sigh, he turned in his swivel chair, surveying the room. And the sorry number of people it housed.

ICPO, as it turned out, was unwilling to give up it's best agents as L had requested, as it had already assigned them to different areas of its own investigation. And L refused to work with anyone but the best they had to offer. In the end, only two countries had come through.

Japan, more out of courtesy to Raito's father than anything. His son was the one being tortured after all, it was only right that he should choose how he would go about trying to rescue his own flesh and blood. So the NPA hadn't protested when Soichiro Yagami had immediately responded to L's call, with some of the chiefs own friends and associates following close behind. That still only gave him five more people to work with however.

The other country that had come through had been the U.S., though L supposed it was their instinctive need to play the part of the hero than any real respect towards L himself. They had given him access to twelve of their best FBI agents, whom L had spread out over the twelve countries other than Japan, in an attempt to find any trail the kidnappers may have left behind. So far, they had been unsuccessful.

Not that that was any surprise, if L's own agents had been unable to find anything themselves.

Watari walked into the room, clearing his throat demurely to capture everyone's attention. Once there was silence, he walked over to the television screen, switching it on and changing the channel. The rooms attention was immediately caught by the reporter on screen and the current story.

"The U.N. has made its final and public announcement regarding the global hostage situation, and its reply to the demands of the alleged kidnappers and their organization."

L saw the chief's face pale.

"The members of the U.N. wish for it to be known that under no circumstances will they give in to the outrageous demands made upon them, and that the situation has done nothing but strengthen their resolve to pass and put into action the aforementioned bill. They give their most sincere condolences to the parents of the kidnapped children, and pray for them every day, but hope that they understand their decision and the reasons behind it. They would also like to put out a special recognition to Japan's Soichiro Yagami, whose son Raito Yagami has taken the brunt of the attention of the kidnappers through beatings, torture, and humiliation. They state that Japan should find pride in the courage of this young man, and stay strong in the face of such adversity, following his example. They have made the unanimous decision that all resources and efforts shall be extended in the capture of the ones responsible, and there will be no mercy or pardon in the trials of the guilty. Justice will be served."

Justice would be served. L would see to it.

Because L was justice.

* * *

A/N: Hey peeps. I'm kinda tired, so I don't really feel like talking to much this time. That's what happens when you're a senior and about to graduate, you get a bit stressed out. Sorry. But yeah, here's the next chapter, I hope you enjoy. And I just thought I'd explain some stuff that confused some people.

When, in the first chapter, I had Raito think the "International Con-" for ICPO, some people reminded me that the C stood for criminal. Yes, I know. This was honestly my bad, as when I'm thinking of ICPO, thinking of the letters feels awkward for me, as does thinking out the whole spiel. I just sort of automatically shorten it to international convention, and sort of made Raito have my quirk as well. My bad, I wasn't really thinking that hard about it.

Secondly, yeah, they contact the ICPO instead of the U.N. Mainly because... well, do you have any freaking idea how to contact the entire U.N. when in session via video, or if it's possible? O O I sure don't. So sorry if it's unrealistic, but I took authors license. I was also thinking that since the ICPO would be doing the hostage investigation and negotiation, it might work okay. Once again, sorry.

Anyway, for anyone who wants to know, I'm working on the next chapter of Lamb, and Quidam shortly after that.

THANKS AGAIN TO NILAH FOR BEING SO PATIENT AND BETAING FOR ME!!

Chow.


	3. Log 3

**Singing Through The Silence**

**Part 1 - Captive**

********

**Log Series 3 - Cracks**

**Log Entry - October 8th**** 2000, 7:24 P.M.**

_He thought he might be going insane._

He was sitting up against one of the concrete walls in his room, eyes dull as they stared into space, trying not to think about how much his face still hurt. The cuts had scabbed days ago, but there was a dull ache that permeated the skin, seeming to melt down into his scull.

He felt sick when he thought about it, so he tried not to. He couldn't afford to skip any of his rare meals due to a stomach ache. The food was coming less often now, and he guessed it might have been because he skipped some of the meals he was given before. He no longer had that small luxury, and was angry at himself for taking even the disgusting slop they gave him for granted. It kept him alive, and strong enough to stay alive. He should have been mindful of that.

Most of the time, he wondered what was going on. Nothing had happened since the kidnappers had cut his face, despite the fact that a week had passed. He wondered whether he should be relieved that they had missed a week of torture, or nervous that the were probably planning something particularly bad. Not that much could really beat mutilating his face-

He wasn't thinking about that.

It was always late when he would get sick of thinking himself in circles, and usually happened when he let himself think about what people - what his father - were doing. Were they still trying to save him? Had they given up? Was he going to be left for dead?

Then he'd close his eyes hard, and make himself think about something else. Math problems. Old memories. Riddles. Anything that might keep his mind occupied.

It was that day, that he realized something he hadn't, before.

For the first time, he realized that he was talking out loud. Talking to himself, out loud, in his empty room. Like some sort of crazy person.

And the worst part of it all was, even when he realized what he was doing, he couldn't stop. He just kept talking about whatever had been going through his mind the moment before, literally thinking out loud.

And he couldn't fucking stop.

He wanted to cry, but he didn't. His mouth just kept opening and he kept talking, despite the fact that no one was listening. Or maybe the kidnappers were. And wasn't that just even more humiliating, the thought that they were listening to him losing it.

No wonder they had let the last week slide by without doing anything to him; they didn't have to. Let the little crazy sit alone in his room and talk to himself, seems worse than anything we could do to him. It must be hilarious to them, to know that it was finally getting to him. Not the cuts or the scars or the cruelty, but the small little room they had shoved him into for the duration of his confinement.

For a moment he concentrated, trying to listen to himself and what he was saying. He prayed it was nothing that could be used against him. But he couldn't do it, he couldn't control what he was saying, and he couldn't even focus enough to listen to what he was saying. It was like a thick, distorted pane of glass between him and reality, warping what he saw and heard, and preventing him from doing anything about it.

God, he really was going insane.

Even if he got out, he'd go straight to the asylum, the loony bin, the funny farm. He wanted to panic, he wanted to scream, he wanted to rail about how unfair all of this was. He was only fourteen, and he was being driven mad.

He had a single moment of clarity, in which he was able to speak exactly what was on his mind.

"I feel violated."

He felt violated down to his core.

**Terminated - October 8****th**** 2000, 8:06 P.M.**

L brought the strawberry to his mouth, biting off a chunk and chewing automatically. He didn't really taste it though, and his glazed stare made it clear that his mind wasn't really focused on the food.

Frankly, L was worried.

It had been over three months, quickly closing in on four, and he still had no lead on the case. It was ridiculous. It was insulting. For L, it was unheard of. He never took so long on a case, he was always a few steps ahead of any criminal he came up against. It was a major blow to his professional pride.

But more than that, he was disturbed. Disturbed by the latest video that had been sent by the kidnappers. The video… wasn't what L had come to expect from the kidnappers. And L didn't like surprises, not when it came to cases like this. Not when it came to cases involving children.

The kidnappers had stopped even pretending to give a damn about most of the children, sending brief images of the sniveling, miserable, but unharmed brats almost as an afterthought. No, their attention, and the vast majority of the world's attention, had been focused almost exclusively on the one pillar of resistance they had met in their scheme.

Raito. It had, L was disgusted to say, become a trend for the tapes sent to contain Raito, or rather, Raito being tortured by the kidnappers. Despite the fact that it was now the norm, it wasn't any easier to watch. L could only wonder at how Chief Yagami was holding it together in the face of his child's suffering. It couldn't have been easy, and the lack of progress and media were only making it harder.

The media was having a field day with the entire thing, speculating on whether any effort was truly being expended on the case, and when there would finally be some results. All while waxing poetic about the terrible ordeal of the children, and lamenting the suffering of Raito in particular. Like it saw some sort of tragic novel they felt they had the right to comment on.

It was enough to make L sick. The Chief had stopped watching the news altogether.

But the latest video that had been sent was disturbing on a whole new level for L. He wasn't sure what to make of it. For once, it did not include images of physical harm to Raito's person, which he had been immensely grateful for. At first. Before he understood what he was seeing.

They had sent a tape they had made that just showed Raito sitting in what had to be his cell, calmly speaking. It wasn't until a few minutes in that L realized he wasn't talking to one of his kidnappers. Raito was talking to _himself_.

He had kept his cool, determined to get through the entire video, no matter how difficult it was. Difficult to watch the brilliant young man be degraded in such a manner, his growing mental instability broadcast to the whole world. But the worst part had been when Raito had stopped talking.

He had fallen silent for a few seconds, and his eyes had cleared from the insensible glaze they sported. They had flickered around, and you could practically feel the awareness in the boy. _He knew what was happening, but there was nothing he could do about it._

The eyes had focused straight ahead, and his face had been completely blank when he said it.

"I feel violated."

Oh God.

Behind him, the Chief had gotten up and left the room.

**Log Entry - October 17****th**** 2000, 4: 10 P.M.**

The first thing they did when they took him to the usual room, was make him look at his face. He had tried to bite, to keep his eyes closed, to look somewhere else, anything to keep him from seeing what exactly they had done to him.

But he hadn't been able to avoid it for long, and he soon found himself staring at his own reflection. His own face, covered in gruesome red lines spanning the flesh of his cheeks.

They had carved a pair of wings onto his face. And that had to be the most ironic twist of fate Raito had ever seen.

He would never be free of this place, these men, or those marks. He would carry them with him his whole life.

So fucking ironic.

But he hadn't said a word, after they had taken the mirror away. He wasn't interested in talking to any of them, and wouldn't give them the satisfaction of a reaction. And wasn't that just ironic too? He no longer had a problem talking to himself, alone in his little cell, but he wasn't interested in talking to other human beings when they were around. Even if they were his kidnappers. What did that say about him now, he wondered?

Caught up in his own thoughts, he jerked in surprise as the door to the room opened once more. Turning in the chair they had him tied to, his eyes widened when another kidnapper came through the door.

His hand on the shoulder of a small girl.

She was repulsively dirty, though Raito supposed he couldn't be much better, and her clothes were beyond all repair. It was obvious she had been crying, though she wasn't physically harmed as far as Raito could see. She was so small, and Raito felt a pang in his chest.

Then she looked up, meeting her gaze, and her eyes went wide and horrified. For a second, he didn't understand. But then it hit him.

She was staring at the scars. At the scars that had been cut across his face. She was staring at his face as though he were some sort of monster.

He turned away. Suddenly he didn't feel sorry for her. Not one bit.

He did pay attention as they led her to the middle of the room though, wondering what they were going to do. It was obvious that she was one of the other children they had kidnapped, and they were both included in the camera shot, only about three feet apart. H kept his eyes on the girl even as they started the camera up, trying to figure out what was going on.

The kidnapper began to speak into the microphone, as per usual, and Raito's shoulders tensed.

"As you can probably see, it is not the usual scene we are presenting to you tonight. It turns out that we actually have a bit of surprise for you today, so pay attention; you won't want to miss a second of it." Raito clenched his teeth, his stomach beginning to clench in nervous anticipation. This couldn't be good, he didn't know what they were planning. Only that it had to be bad for him and the little girl. She was beginning to catch on to that too, her face going even more pale and terrified.

"We're getting a little impatient you see, since you all seem to be taking your sweet time to meet our demands. So we thought we'd offer you a little more incentive. We're sure you'll understand."

He stopped speaking, and there was a long pause. The air was thick with tension, and the room was silent enough to hear a pin drop.

And then an abrupt roar of sound that nearly deafened Raito, and brought it all crashing down on his head.

A gunshot, and the thump of a small body hitting the floor.

He looked down, and there was the little girl at his feet. Her eyes were blank, and staring, her face startlingly pale against the dark concrete.

A bloody hole in the center of her forehead.

He felt some blood on his face, in his hair and clothes. Probably landed there from the force of the bullet through her brain, he thought numbly. If his hands had been free, he might have tried to wipe it off. Maybe. He wasn't sure.

But he didn't speak. He didn't say a thing.

Not. One. Fucking. Thing.

**Terminated - October 17****th**** 2000, 4:24 P.M.**

It had only been a matter of time before it happened, but L still wasn't ready for it when it did. Logically, he knew he should have been ready for it, with the direction things were heading, but he wasn't sure if anyone could really prepare themselves for something like that.

They had finally killed a child. The girl from Britain. With a single shot to the head.

The news would be broadcast all around the world that evening. The parents had already been informed.

That was all part of the process, and L had let other people deal with it. In the meantime, he had done as he always did, and watched the tape over and over, looking for any clue as to where the kidnappers' base might be located. But he was having trouble concentrating, every time the gunshot rang out, and the small body hit the floor. It was sickening, seeing a child killed in cold blood.

It was sickening the way they had made Raito watch.

It had become obvious what they were doing. Since they couldn't get to the child physically, the kidnappers were attacking Raito's mind. The death of the girl had been inevitable, but they had used it to push Raito further into instability. The whole thing was a continuous mind fuck.

The death of the little girl might have been merciful, in comparison. Not that he could ever say that, since the little girl had parents, parents whose world had just been shot point blank through the scull. Without even a body to bury.

"Ryuuzaki?"

He paused the video and turned in his chair to face the rest of the room. It was Matsuda that had spoken, and L took a minute just to look the man over. He didn't look good - not at all the upbeat and energetic young investigator that had come in weeks ago, more enthusiasm than brains. Now there were dark bags beneath tired eyes, and a sober expression on his face. He looked bad.

But none of them looked as bad as the Chief.

L shook his head. "Yes, Matsuda-san?"

"I just noticed; we've gone over all the passenger names and security videos in all the airports the kidnappers might have used, but we haven't gone over the luggage records."

L could have wasted his time telling Matsuda that it was a chance in a million that they would find anything they could use in such inaccurate records. Most of the time such records weren't even taken, since it was impossible to distinguish every piece of luggage individually. Mainly, only the more valuable or fragile luggage was noted, so the loaders knew to make sure it was safe. But explaining all that would have been a waste of time, and there wasn't much else for the investigation team to do.

Besides watch the tapes.

"You are correct Matsuda, we have not gone over the luggage records. A horrible oversight. However, I am currently occupied, so I will ask for you to be the one to look into the matter. Inform me if you find anything unusual."

"Yes sir!" And Matsuda showed some of his old personality, looking excited and happy to be doing something he considered important. Who was L to ruin that?

He watched Matsuda hurry back to his computer, mumbling under his breath. Before he again turned back to his laptop, and pressed the play button.

A gunshot. A small thump as a body hit the floor.

Raito staring down at the dead body.

_Raito._

**Log Entry - October 24****th**** 2000, 6:02 P.M.**

He hadn't spoken at all, not even alone in his cell, for three days after the little girl had died. What could he say, when all he could see were those eyes staring up at him?

Still managing to look at him like he was a monster, even after the girl was dead.

Dead. The little girl was dead, and he had watched it happen. And he hadn't so much as screamed, or gasped, or made a move to try and help her.

What was wrong with him?

He was going crazy.

And it was quiet.

He was going crazy, and it was all because it was so damn quiet.

On the forth day, he opened his mouth to speak. He was horrified when instead, he started to sing.

It was an American lullaby, one his mother had sung to him when he was little. It had always been comforting to listen to, right before he fell asleep. And now, he was sitting there in his tiny cell, thinking about the death of a little girl, singing a lullaby of all things.

He hated it. He hated the little girl. He hated those dead eyes. He hated his cold, empty cell. He hated the maddening silence.

Most of all, he hated how he sounded, singing the lullaby.

He had never been a singer, having found himself more inclined towards academics than the arts. But he never had to sing, so it didn't bother him overly much.

But he was singing now, and it was _awful_.

His voice was off pitch, and he wasn't hitting a single note right.

"_Hush little baby, don't say a word…"_

His voice would crack and break and squeak in odd places, and completely give out in others.

"_Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird…"_

He sounded deranged. Insane. Completely out of his mind. And he was, he realized. He was completely out of his mind.

"_And if that mocking bird don't sing…"_

He didn't even feel human any more.

He only stopped when they came, taking him to the room and tying him to the chair. He didn't look up when they brought in the little boy. He closed his eyes when, again, there was a gunshot, and a soft thump.

He opened his mouth, taking a shaky breath.

"_Hush little baby, don't say a word,_

_Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird…"_

**Terminated - October 24****th**** 2000, 7: 30 P.M.**

Another child dead, and still, nothing.

The task force was gathered around a meeting table, sipping their coffee. No one said anything. There wasn't really anything to say.

Only Matsuda seemed preoccupied, still looking at the luggage records from the airports. L left him to it. At least he had the work to take his mind off of everything, and L wasn't going to begrudge him that.

For once, it was everyone else that was sitting around, feeling useless.

He ate a bite of his cake, depressed.

He didn't know what to do. He was L, the greatest detective in the world, and he didn't know what to do. It was a new feeling for him, and not at all pleasant. In fact, he was quite sure that he hated the feeling with everything in him.

But that didn't change it, or help anything.

But the task force was looking at him, looking to him, eyes begging him to give them a job, any job. Just so they could feel like they were doing something. Even if it wouldn't really help anything. They just needed to do something. Especially the Chief. L didn't even look over to Chief Yagami, knowing what he would see.

An old man, aged and broken before his time. Forced to watch his child suffer the unimaginable, and unable to do anything about it. A man losing faith.

He opened his mouth to give them something to do, even if it was meaningless. And he was cut off by an offhand comment by a busily immersed Matsuda, mumbling over the useless records.

"Didn't know there were that many cello players in the entire world, let alone India… must have been a big music festival or something…"

Wait.

Cello?

He felt something itching in the back of his head. "What was that, Matsuda-san?"

Matsuda looked up, blinking in surprise at being addressed. L had pretty much left him to himself on his little project, and he had thought the man wasn't interested. But if he was… "Well, it's just odd is all. In about eight of the airports whose records I've looked at, they have noted that they had very valuable cello's on board, to be handled with extreme care. And all of the flights the cellos were on were headed to India. I just found it odd is all. Thought there must be some festival or convention or something there…"

Matsuda continued to ramble on, but L wasn't listening. He was processing the information he had just received, turning it over in his head and fitting the pieces together in a complicated puzzle.

Cello's transported from airports from the different countries, all on the same day and headed to the same place.

Cello's cases were large and broad, large enough to contain children, curled up. Too large to put through the x-ray machine, and harmless enough not to be checked thoroughly by security.

They were handled with care, tied down away from the other luggage so they wouldn't shift around and harm the instrument inside.

That was it. He had it.

_He had it._

"Congratulations, Matsuda."

"- and then I - what? Huh?" The man was looking at L, confused, as were the rest of the task force.

L took a small sip of his tea.

"Gentlemen. We have a lead."

**Log Entry - October 31****st**** 2000, 11:41 P.M.**

"_You are my sunshine_

_My only sunshine_

_You make me happy_

_When skies are grey_

_You'll never know dear_

_How much I love you_

_Please don't take_

_My sunshine away"_

They were back. Raito stopped singing as the door swung open, and automatically got to his feet. They began the familiar trek to the camera room, and Raito tried to work up the energy to feel nervous, or scared, or anything about going back there, probably to see another child dead.

But when he was shoved into the room, he didn't see his usual chair. Instead, there was what looked like a coffin lying in the middle of the floor.

After a moment, he noticed that it wasn't a coffin. It was too unadorned, and wasn't particularly pretty. Made out of heavy iron, it had bolts on one side of the lid, keeping it shut tight.

It was one of the soundproof boxes the blind sometimes used, he realized. Since their eyes didn't work, blind people had superhuman hearing, and it sometimes got overwhelming. So they would get in such boxes, close the lid, and give their ears a break before they went into overload. Free to sleep or relax in complete and utter silence.

It took a moment for that to sink in. A moment in which he was grabbed by a kidnapper, who began to drag him towards the box.

The box that was being opened by another kidnapper.

H panicked.

It was a blur of motion. He knew he had kicked, clawed, even bitten one of the men, trying to get away. He fingers felt wet with what he was sure was blood, but he was still thrashing, his feet and arms lashing out more violently, the closet he was taken to the iron monstrosity.

A kidnapper's fist lashed out, clipping him across the temple. He stopped struggling, dazed, blinking hazily as he was laid down. He only came to himself as the lid slammed down with a heavy crash, blocking out all the light.

It was the last sound he heard.

He was left alone in the dark and silence.

Dark and silence.

Absolute silence.

Silence.

Raito screamed.

**Terminated - November 1****st**** 2000, 12:00 A.M.**

For the first time, the case had been looking up.

L had followed the lead on the cello cases, and had his suspicions confirmed. One airport in each of the countries with a kidnapped child had a flight to India on the day of the kidnappings. What was more, the flights were within a few hours of the time of the kidnappings, further proving his theory.

That each of the flights had a cello case noted in the luggage records cemented it.

He had already called every agent he had at his disposal to India, and informed all major intelligence agencies of his finding. They had immediately offered their assistance, sending agents of their own.

The task force had been working double time, looking through all the information the airport in India could give them for any further leads. They were busy, they felt like they were actually doing something to help.

Chief Yagami had let himself begin to hope again. That maybe, if not completely whole, he could at least get his son out of this alive.

L was solving his case. He was no longer powerless. He had the answers.

They had felt stronger, more prepared, when the next video had come.

But nothing could have prepared them. Nothing could have prepared him.

It had been confusing when they were first presented with the image. All they saw was a soundproof unit in the middle of the familiar cement room, one commonly used by the blind to block out overwhelming auditory signals. It hadn't made sense.

The kidnapper had illuminated what exactly was going on.

"What you are looking at is your little martyr Raito Yagami. Or, should I say, your little martyr Raito Yagami in a soundproof unit."

L exchanged a glance with the Chief, and saw his bafflement mirrored in his gaze. What was the kidnappers point?

"Boys, go ahead and turn on the sound."

And then, the screams.

* * *

A/N: Sorry everyone, it's been a really long time... I'm afraid some real shit went down at the beginning of the year, and I've been in really bad shape for a while, but I'm doing better now. I can't guarrentee that I'll be updating on a regular basis, but I'll do my best. It's good to be back, I hope you all enjoy the chapter. ^ ^


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